


Angel Rebellion Inc.

by Baylor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Family Feels, Apocalypse, Gen, Humor, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baylor/pseuds/Baylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your No. 1 Source for Apocalypse Termination & Prevention<br/>At Large in our Father's World</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Rebellion Inc.

**Author's Note:**

> Written many seasons ago and growing more AU by the season. Provisos: the Trickster (hereby known as "Skip") is not the angel Gabriel but is angel Azrael. Same story, different name. Also, the Gabriel and Michael that you know are not the Gabriel and Michael within. Season 5.

When Castiel showed up with Michael in tow (or the other way around, in all likelihood), Azrael was so surprised that he hesitated mid-flight. Curiosity always was his downfall. 

“Azrael,” Michael intoned (because really, Michael never just said something, he intoned), “important work is at hand.”

“You don’t say,” Azrael said to Michael, and then addressed Castiel. “What happened to Operation Winchester?”

“Michael is with us,” Castiel said gravely, and it was the most surprised Azrael had been since, well, since Lucifer. It actually rendered him speechless for several seconds, long enough for Michael to jump in and start intoning again.

“The Lord has not commanded these recent acts,” he said. “This is not the appointed time. We have been betrayed and deceived, and these events must be brought to rights.”

Now that just sounded absurd, and Azrael gathered himself to flee. “You have been deceived?” he demanded. “You, who lead God’s host, archest of the archangels? You got some land in Florida you want to sell me too?”

“We are not selling real estate,” Castiel said seriously, and really, if he didn’t have to run for his life right now, Azrael could have taken some time to enjoy Castiel and his unflagging solemnity. 

“I have been otherwise occupied,” Michael said, and this stayed Azrael’s departure. “Raphael reported to me that the Seals were being broken, and then that Lilith was destroyed and Lucifer risen, though not yet in his vessel. I asked that he alert me when the time was upon us, but when he did not report again, I returned and discovered the rebellion of the Third Sphere.”

“Rebellion’s kind of a strong word for it, dontcha think?” Azrael asked. “I mean, they’re in charge now, no one around to tell them not to get the jumpstart on ending the world.”

“God is,” Michael said, and the ground shook. Azrael tried not to cringe. Michael dropped his intonation down a notch. “We have been charged with the safeguarding of his creations, until such time as he instructs otherwise. How he chooses to spend that time is not subject to our approval.”

Azrael wasn’t sure what was niggling at the pit of his stomach, but he suspected it might be shame. 

“All right,” he said brusquely, “but even so, you’re joining us kind of late. Lucifer’s here, ready to rumble.”

“He is not ready to rumble,” Castiel corrected him. “He has not attained his vessel.”

“Nor do I intend to attain mine, until it is ordered,” Michael said. 

“So, what,” Azrael asked, “you’re just going to let Lucifer run roughshod over Earth?”

“We are going,” Michael said, and the ground trembled again, “to overthrow Lucifer and bind him to hell. And you are going to help us.”

Maybe it was shame in his gut, because Azrael said yes.

* * * 

Castiel tapped expertly at his phone, texting Dean: where r u?

Michael watched with interest. “What is that? What are you doing?”

Azrael rolled his eyes. “It’s called a phone, big brother. He’s using it to contact Fred and Shaggy, since somebody angel-blocked them.”

Castiel frowned. “It was necessary for their protection,” he said gravely.

Michael took the phone from Castiel’s hand and studied it. “What a curious thing,” he said. Castiel watched him with the faintest anxiety.

Azrael looked bored. “Yeah, Cas has really gone native,” he said. “Earth has changed a lot since Paradise was abandoned. You’d know these things if you ever bothered to check in.”

Michael cut him a dark look, whether because he’d already been warned about calling Castiel “Cas” or because they all knew who’d really gone native, Azrael couldn’t tell. Azrael smirked at him, either uncaring or actually hoping to be smitten, Michael couldn’t tell.

Castiel kept his eyes on the phone in Michael’s hand, definitely looking anxious now. It began vibrating in Michael’s hand and “Highway to Hell” peeled out of its tiny speaker.

“Hit OK,” Castiel instructed at Michael’s baffled expression. “It’s Dean.”

Michael looked at him blankly and Castiel reached out an imploring hand. Michael looked back down at the phone, tilting his head to listen to the AC/DC.

Azrael looked heavenward, wishing his Father were around to hear his prayer for salvation. He snatched the phone out of Michael’s hand and put it to his ear.

“Angel Rebellion Incorporated, can I help you?” he said into it, and an angry voice barked out of it.

“Hmm,” Azrael said thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s physically possible. Well, certainly not while we’re in human form. Did you want to talk to baby brother?”

Castiel’s hand was out to Azrael now, and his face was scrunched up with such fretfulness that both Azrael and Michael were afraid he was accidentally going to start a small tornado. Azrael handed the phone over.

Michael gave him a reproachful look.

“What?” Azrael said peevishly. “And for the last time, my name is Skip, so stop thinking Azrael.”

* * * 

“Azrael,” Michael began gravely, but Azrael cut in before he could continue.

“Seriously,” Azrael said. “It’s Skip now. Not Azrael.”

“Azrael is the name our Father gave you,” Michael said. “You should wear it with honor.”

“Yeah, but I’m not,” Azrael said. “I haven’t for more than a millennium, and maybe you should just get on board, because after a thousand some years of going by something else, I’m not answering to Azrael again.”

“You have been called Skip for more than a thousand years?” Castiel inquired, and Azrael Skip pointed a finger at him without turning from Michael.

“Shut. Up,” he said. Castiel looked slightly offended.

Michael looked exasperated. “Azrael is a name befitting an angel of the Lord,” he said. “Skip is not.”

Azrael Skip wasn’t buying it. “I haven’t been one of those in more than a millennium either,” he pointed out. “And anyway, it’s not a name befitting an angel of the Lord these days. You know what it is? The name of an evil cartoon cat.”

“The name Azrael has been used in many human artistic expressions,” Castiel started, but then shut his mouth when both Michael and Azrael Skip gave him a black look.

“You’ve got it easy,” Azrael Skip continued to Michael. “Did you know that Michael has been one of the most popular names for humans since before I stopped calling myself Azrael? Everyone wants to be Michael!”

“Perhaps when we finish our work here, Azrael will be a name held high with honor,” Michael said seriously, and Azrael Skip rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” he said. “No one is naming their kid Azrael. Or Castiel, either.” Castiel looked crestfallen. “You know what they’re gonna call their kids? Sam and Dean.”

The three angels contemplated this.

“Skip is a cheerful name,” Castiel finally said.

Michael ground his teeth. Skip folded his arms smugly across his chest.

“Fine,” Michael said tightly. “Skip …”

* * * 

“So, you’ve given up the whole Azrael thing altogether?” Dean said conversationally to Skip, who was wedged in the backseat with Castiel and Sam. (Michael had just gotten into the passenger seat, and, you know, he is the fiery swift sword of the Lord, so Sam had just gotten in back without comment.)

“Yes,” Skip said shortly, and no one spoke for a while. Dean drove, and the world passed by the windows in a blur. Literally, because Michael was actually piloting, even though Dean was at the wheel.

“Isn’t Azrael the angel of death?” Sam said after a while, and Skip leaned his head against the back of the seat and shut his eyes.

“No,” he said emphatically. “That’s Izrail. He’s a totally different person. And it’s all different from Israel, which took you people long enough to sort out.”

“Angel of Death is not an accurate description of Izrail,” Castiel said, in a manner that indicated more was to come, but Sam shifted and caught him in the ribs with his elbow, then gave him a quick frown when Castiel looked at him. Castiel subsided.

Dean did not. “So, not the angel of death, huh?” he said. “What are, or were, you then?”

Skip was quiet and then he murmured, “God is my help.” He lifted his head and looked out the window.

“That’s nice,” Dean said, without irony. “Hey,” this was directed to Michael, “doesn’t Michael mean something like ‘gift from God’?”

“He who is Godlike,” Michael said gravely, and the car trembled a little with his words.

“Good one,” Dean said. “It’s my middle name, you know? Kind of a weird fate thing, isn’t that?”

“I know,” Michael said neutrally, staring out the windshield. “I know everything about you, Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah?” Dean looked at him sideways. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Michael said, and did not elaborate.

“You can’t know everything,” Dean said, both skeptical and nervous.

“In August 2000, you saved a young woman named Nancy Simpson from a revenant. She rewarded you with a homemade dinner. Following that dinner, you used her kitchen table to –“

“All right!” Dean squawked as the car swerved. He yanked the wheel back. “All right! You know everything! You don’t have to share it with the group!”

Sam may have snorted from the back.

“My name has no meaning,” Castiel said mournfully. He was studying his hands in his lap.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Michael stared out the windshield. Skip had fallen asleep with his face pressed to the side window.

“You’re Cas,” Dean said finally, his voice saying that was enough for him.

“You’re just unwritten,” Sam added. “You get to choose.”

Castiel seemed to like that. He looked up from his hands, at least.

The world swirled by.

* * *

After Rio, Skip said he was out.

After Siberia, Skip said he was out.

After Mozambique, Skip said he was out.

After Vegas, Skip said he was out, he really means it this time, you guys, he’s really leaving now, until he was alone, shouting into the big dust storm that used to be his favorite city ever.

“I thought you were out,” Castiel said when he caught up to them, and that almost-smile was at his lips.

“Smite me,” Skip growled. 

He had a little de-stressor when he actually found that Nigerian businessman who had recently come into a large sum of money, but then Michael put an end to that. 

Michael never had known how to enjoy himself.

He had his sights set on Glenn Beck for his next downtime, but Castiel ratted him out. (To their credit, the Brothers Winchester were on board.)

Despite downfall and rebellion, that stick was further up Castiel’s ass than ever before.

He ended up at a strip joint with Castiel and the Winchesters while Michael was off strategizing or recruiting or ordering his host (more like handful, very tiny handful) for battle. 

“So what’s it like, heaven?” Dean asked, eyes firmly fixed on the dancer above them. Skip shrugged. 

“Boring,” he said dismissively. 

“Heaven is not boring,” Castiel began, so Dean waved the lap dance girl over, and that would keep him terrified and silent for a while.

“I thought it was paradise,” Sam said, looking anxious and fretful. 

“Heaven isn’t paradise,” Skip said. He slid a twenty into the dancer’s g-string. “You schmucks get to go to paradise. Some of you.”

“We don’t go to heaven when we die?” Dean asked, stunned. 

Skip shrugged. “Some humans do a detour there,” he said. “The ones who don’t go down under. Other shoot straight up to the Fields of the Lord.”

“What’s that like?” Sam asked, and Skip shrugged again. 

“Prepared for you folk, not for us,” Skip said. 

“Heaven was paradise once,” Castiel said softly, and solemnly handed his dancer a hundred. Her mouth dropped open and Castiel took the opportunity to place his hands on her face and kiss her forehead. She left in a daze.

“Don’t do that shit,” Skip said crossly. “Now she’s all bedazzled and she’s going to go out and start working at a soup kitchen and singing hymns all day and stop giving lap dances.”

Castiel looked at him levelly, but seriously, Skip did not feel shame about enjoying a good lap dance. 

“Don’t you miss it?” Sam asked, and Skip wasn’t sure who he was asking, but he answered flatly, “No.”

* * * 

Michael smited Zachariah like the little snake he was, in a white-hot blaze of righteous wrath that singed all of them about the edges, but not before Zachariah had gotten the drop on Castiel and pinned him earthbound through his vessel’s thigh with his sword. Before they could deal with that problem, Raphael flitted by, and Michael practically had smoke coming out of his nostrils in his eagerness for the chase.

Michael yanked the sword out of Castiel and dumped him on the Winchesters, who at least had a motel room at the moment, and gathered himself to return to the fray, and then realized that Skip wasn’t poised to follow. He turned an inquiring look to Skip.

“No,” Skip said flatly, and Michael’s fury had the joint shaking until Castiel’s little gasps of pain made him settle. 

“Leave your vessel and find a new one if you cannot heal it,” Michael spit at Castiel, because shit rolls downhill. 

“I can’t,” Castiel panted, bleeding all over the skeevy motel room floor while the Winchesters whipped off their top layer of shirts and pressed the cloths to the wound.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Michael said, clearly already half back on Raphael’s trail.

Castiel wheezed. “I haven’t, since I returned,” he faltered, and Skip finished for him.

“He hasn’t been able to leave that vessel since Raphael fried his ass and he mysteriously returned,” he said coldly to Michael. “Something you would know if you ever talked to anyone in this family or paid any attention to what’s going on with them. But, hey, that’s why we’re in this mess in the first place, isn’t it?”

No one moved or spoke as Michael glared at Skip, and the air seemed to beat with his angry breaths. Finally, he pointed at Castiel. “Heal him,” he ground out, and then he was gone. 

They put Castiel on a bed and cut off his clothes and cleaned him up and then Skip did the best laying of hands that he could, but angelic swords are angelic swords, meant to cut down the host, and personally, he thought Castiel was lucky that Zachariah had clearly been intending to toy with him for a while, because otherwise he would have taken that blow through the throat. 

The Winchesters made compresses and bound up the leg, and Skip gave Castiel a little helper zap to the head, because he’d never taken up sleep but Skip couldn’t stand him looking at him with those dolorous eyes all confused and distant. 

“Knock it off or I’ll zap you too,” he growled at the Winchesters, who were both watching him while trying to make it look like they weren’t watching him, and then he stormed outside and blew up streetlights until he felt calmer. 

Evening became night, and night became false dawn, and Skip returned to the motel room. Dean was asleep in an armchair beside Castiel’s bed. Sam was at the table, laptop running. His eyes tracked Skip as he sat on the edge of the bed and touched Castiel’s forehead. Castiel shifted slightly, then subsided. His vessel was warm again, the heartbeat slow and steady when Skip tipped his head to hear it. 

“When I left my family,” Sam said, “I had lots of reasons – I didn’t want that life, I couldn’t stand the tight rein my dad kept me on, I wanted stability and security, but part of it? I just couldn’t stand seeing them hurt all the time, and didn’t want to be there to see them die.”

Skip thought about giving Sam a good little zap in the ass for his presumption, but couldn’t work up the anger for it. 

“At least they weren’t doing it to each other,” he finally said, and he was remembering Zachariah as he once was, such a font of wisdom and foresight, who loved sharing those gifts with others. 

He put a hand on Castiel’s chest and felt it rise and fall, felt his grace under the flesh, felt his gravity and his dedication and his muleheadedness and his humor and his love for these flawed creatures. 

* * * 

At dawn, he went back outside and watched the sunrise. Skip liked the passage of days. It was one of his favorite things about Earth.

When the sunrise passed into morning, he turned and faced Michael.

“Our Father has made a beautiful world,” Michael said, and for once it wasn’t an intonation, a proclamation of the truth from God’s right hand, but something that Michael felt, and shared.

They looked at each other.

“I have oft been busy with our Father’s work,” Michael said simply.

“I have oft been fed up with our family infighting,” Skip answered. 

Michael nodded gravely and looked off into the distance. “Do not think I take pleasure from it,” he said. “Lucifer was … Lucifer was my brother,” and Skip thought of the brothers sleeping inside the motel, at the same time he thought of two other brothers, separated since before the confines of time.

“He made his choice,” Michael continued, “and not just to leave, not just to forsake our home, but to rise up and rule it, and so be it if it was destroyed in the process. What would you have had me do, when I was ordered to take up arms?”

“Nothing but what you did do,” Skip said. “But I still hate it.”

Michael contemplated this, and then dipped his head, accepting. 

“Yet here you are,” he said mildly. 

“I love this world,” Skip said. “I love the crappy motels and the stinking slums and the moldering infestation of grief and pettiness and love that inhabits it.”

“How optimistic of you,” Michael said, and he was almost smiling. 

Skip gave him a rueful look. “It’s quite the playground,” he said, then he jerked his head at the motel. “Kiddo’s doing better,” he said. 

Michael straightened his shoulders. “Good,” he said. “We have work to do.”

* * * 

“You look like the littlest hobo angel,” Skip informed Castiel.

“It is irrelevant,” Castiel said dismissively, his hands in the pockets of Sam’s hoodie. 

“Those jeans are going to fall off your ass,” Skip said flatly. 

“Dean loaned them to me,” Castiel said informatively. 

“Yeah,” Skip said, because that was his point. He continued when Castiel seemed to think the conversation over. “Look, you’re bringing down the badass component of our little super-angel force here, and we need every advantage we can get.”

Ahead of them, in badass jeans and badass biker boots and a super-badass leather jacket, Michael was returning to normal the seas that were running red. It was all very apocalyptic and awe-inspiring and badass, and then at the edges of the scene was Castiel hunched into his oversized clothing.

“I am badass,” Castiel said with grave confidence. 

“I think the concept might be escaping you,” Skip said. 

“Dean!” Castiel called over the howling wind. “Am I badass?”

Dean looked over, cutting his eyes between the two angels and then adding a sidelong look at Sam, who could clearly hear them but was keeping his eyes fixed on Michael. 

“Of course you are,” Dean said finally, and slapped Castiel on the back.

Castiel gave Skip a smug almost-smile. 

* * * 

Skip landed in the road second, just to the left of Castiel, and then quickly rolled to avoid Michael as he slammed into the earth.

“Ow,” Skip said flatly.

“I do not believe Thor wishes to enter into an alliance with us,” Castiel said contemplatively. His hair was smoking a little.

Michael stood up and gave a little shake, and his vessel re-aligned itself. He gave another little shake to clean himself up.

“Get up,” he said to Skip and Castiel in annoyance. 

Skip brushed himself off while Castiel texted Dean. (Skip swore, sometimes they were actually sexting each other, but the one time he’d ripped the phone from Castiel to verify this theory, they were having a long exchange about pie vs. doughnuts, and Castiel had scorched his eyebrows off for unauthorized handling of his precious phone given to him by his precious Dean.)

They stood at the side of the road and waited for Dean’s response. A car passed by and lost its muffler going over the indentation their landing had caused. Skip snickered. Castiel looked anxiously at Michael, who was staring into the distance.

“We need more troops,” Michael said to the distance.

“There are more hunters,” Castiel said. 

“And other things,” Skip added. “The Winchesters ain’t so squeaky clean – they could bring in a couple of witches, maybe even some vegetarian vampires. We don’t seem to be doing too well with the pagan gods.”

“Anasazi is with us,” Castiel said encouragingly, because Michael remained incensed that for all his time undercover as a Trickster, Skip had succeeded merely in alienating possible allies.

“We need demons,” Michael said. 

Skip and Castiel looked at each other. Michael turned to them.

“Find me Crowley,” he said. “Alive,” and he walked into the middle of the road and was gone.

* * * 

They hedged their bets and had the Winchesters round up hunters and anything else they could lay hands on.

Castiel kept working on the demon known to the Winchesters as Meg. Skip lingered close by, ready to snatch his brother from the bitch’s jaws in less than a heartbeat. 

She wouldn’t give Lucifer up, but she did seek out Crowley herself, Castiel and Skip her little angel shadows. 

“I see you brought friends,” Crowley said to Meg, and she spun, ready to go for them, but Crowley took a lazy sip of his drink and said, “All right, boys, tell me what you got.”

When they took him to Michael, he listened and nodded and took lazy sips of his drinks, and when Michael was done, he said, “All right, but we’re gonna need more angels.”

Michael suggested once, only once, that they find the Anti-Christ and turn him to their needs, but Skip said over his dead body, and Michael must have gathered that he meant it, because it didn’t come up again.

“We might actually win this thing,” Skip panted to Castiel after they’d slain the Leviathan. 

Castiel’s soaking-wet jeans were so weighted down that the tops of his boxers were showing. He solemnly put his hoodie back on, and Skip reflected that at least it was so big that if he lost the jeans altogether, nothing vital would be exposed.

“In all likelihood, every one of us will be wiped from this existence in the fires of Armageddon,” Castiel said, and zipped the hoodie up.

“That’s what I love about you, Cas,” Skip said, and accepted his hand up. “You always know the right words for the moment.”

“I love you too,” Castiel said seriously. 

* * * 

It would have been a lot easier if Castiel hadn’t insisted they save not just Dean, but Sam as well. 

Skip went on back for him, just in time too, because no way was he listening to Castiel whine about it for a few thousands years. 

“Are you happy now?” he demanded, shoving Sam at Castiel.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Yes, I am happy.”

“Well,” Skip said, and threw up his hands, “so am I.”

* * *

It was just like Gabriel to show up and crash the after-party, though Skip was getting the impression that maybe he’d been around for a little longer than that. 

“Sweet ride,” Gabriel said to Dean, stroking a hand on the Impala’s hood. “Now, this, this is something worth saving the world for.”

Dean looked proud and pleased. Sam was looking fondly at his brother. Michael was looking fond of himself.

Castiel still looked like the littlest hobo angel.

“So, what happens now?” Sam asked, and Gabriel turned to him.

“You tell me, kid,” he said, then jerked his thumb at Dean. “Watch out for your brother, all right?” He jerked his thumb again, this time at the car. “And you watch out for that car,” he said to Dean.

The brothers grinned at him, because Gabriel had the joy-filling mojo going on. Skip had forgotten that.

“You two, though,” and Gabriel turned to Skip and Castiel. “You two still need to be dealt with.” Castiel looked troubled and Skip scowled, pissed.

“In case you didn’t notice, we just averted the Apocalypse, and saved your favorite humans,” he said. 

“And do accept my thanks and commendation for a job well done,” Gabriel said, and gave them a small bow. “But there’s still the matters of abandonment and rebellion to be addressed.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, holding up a hand. “Rebellion? Castiel’s just about the only angel who cared what God’s orders were and didn’t just blindly follow the leader.”

“Angels aren’t human,” Gabriel said, his smile gone and his voice firm. “The choices allocated to you are not the choices allocated to them.”

Castiel looked stricken, but lowered his head in acceptance. “May God’s will be done,” he said. 

“Castiel,” Gabriel intoned, “you are hereby bound to this vessel, and to this earthly plain, and charged with the protection of its inhabitants against the remaining evils of hell that linger here, until such time as our Father deems your task complete.”

Castiel slowly raised his head and blinked. “I’m to stay here on Earth?” he asked hesitantly.

Gabriel jerked a thumb at the Winchesters. “Those guys might help you out, tracking down the last of the demons, if you ask nice,” he said, and then you could have knocked Skip over with a feather, because Castiel actually smiled, not one of his almost-smiles, but a real, full-on smile of joy. 

“Thank you,” Castiel said. 

“Thank you,” Gabriel answered. “Think the punishment fits the crime?” he shot over his shoulder at the Winchesters, who were grinning just as wide as Castiel.

“Not that I’m not enjoying the love-fest, but what about me?” Skip demanded. The smile slid from Gabriel’s face and he sighed.

“Azrael, Azrael, Azrael,” he said, and tossed his hands up in the air. “You don’t want to be Azrael anymore? You got it, kid. Only try not to cause so much trouble this time.”

The jaw-hanging look of astonishment was not in keeping with his image, but Skip couldn’t get his features righted. “Seriously?” he asked.

A smile was just starting to grow again on Gabriel’s face. “Hey, Castiel, do me a favor,” he said.

“Of course,” Castiel said sincerely.

“Keep an eye on Skip here, would you?” Gabriel winked at Skip. “That works both ways,” he told him.

Skip took a deep breath, because the sky seemed bluer and the air fresher and the sun brighter. Gabriel and his stupid joy mojo.

Michael shifted. “I hear,” he said, and even Michael was almost smiling, “that there’s a zombie outbreak in Jamaica, and none other than Taylor Mulvaney is down there working the job.”

“Seriously?” Skip said again, and then crowed, “Baby, I’m there!” He snapped his fingers and was instantly outfitted in khaki shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and sandals. “How do I look?” he asked the crowd.

“Like a dork,” Sam said. Dean nodded.

“Oh, right,” Gabriel said suddenly, “I forgot. I have a present for you.” This was directed at Castiel, and as he cocked his head inquiringly at Gabriel, the other angel snapped his fingers.

Skip gave a bark of a laugh in surprise and delight. Castiel looked down and opened his trenchcoat to inspect it.

“My old clothes,” he said softly, a small, pleased smile about his lips. 

“Better?” Gabriel asked, but he was asking Skip.

Skip just smiled slyly. “Be seeing you,” he said.

“Not if we see you first,” he heard Dean shoot back, and then he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Skip has a girlfriend named Taylor Mulvaney. Don't worry about it.


End file.
